Original Contemporary Poetry about the Human Condition

being different poems

I was the open shirtand the journal palm,not a pair of wings,the recorder of passersby.They did not know whatto do with me. I strungtogether metaphors whilethey talked about baseballcards. While they volleyedjuvenile experiences of lust,I read the thoughts ofexpatriate Parisians, sarcasticpolarizing prophets, and poemsbalanced on an image. Poppingin compact discs, I imaginedthe world I might one dayengage in, sketched in pencil.